This page has been validated.
308
The FIRST BOOK of
If you receiv'd me from Jocasta's womb,
And nurs'd the hope of mischiefs yet to come:
If leaving Polybus, I took my way
To Cyrrha's temple on that fatal day,
When by the son the trembling father dy'd,
Where the three roads the Phocian fields divide:
If I the Sphynxe's riddles durst explain,
Taught by thy self to win the promis'd reign:
If wretched I, by baleful furies led,
With monstrous mixture stain'd my mother's bed,
For hell and thee begot an impious brood,
And with full lust those horrid joys renew'd:
Then self-condemn'd to shades of endless night,
Forc'd from these orbs the bleeding balls of sight.
Oh hear, and aid the vengeance I require,
If worthy thee, and what thou might'st inspire!
My sons their old, unhappy sire despise,
Spoil'd of his kingdom, and depriv'd of eyes;
Guideless I wander, unregarded mourn,
While these exalt their scepters o'er my urn;
And nurs'd the hope of mischiefs yet to come:
If leaving Polybus, I took my way
To Cyrrha's temple on that fatal day,
When by the son the trembling father dy'd,
Where the three roads the Phocian fields divide:
If I the Sphynxe's riddles durst explain,
Taught by thy self to win the promis'd reign:
If wretched I, by baleful furies led,
With monstrous mixture stain'd my mother's bed,
For hell and thee begot an impious brood,
And with full lust those horrid joys renew'd:
Then self-condemn'd to shades of endless night,
Forc'd from these orbs the bleeding balls of sight.
Oh hear, and aid the vengeance I require,
If worthy thee, and what thou might'st inspire!
My sons their old, unhappy sire despise,
Spoil'd of his kingdom, and depriv'd of eyes;
Guideless I wander, unregarded mourn,
While these exalt their scepters o'er my urn;
These
